


xø, the monster you made

by leathermouthgrrrl



Category: LeATHERMØUTH, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Bloodplay, M/M, Pain, Painplay, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leathermouthgrrrl/pseuds/leathermouthgrrrl





	xø, the monster you made

**Chapter one**

The tattoo parlour's ether was filled with sweat, ink and three day old coffee which all in all made the place absolutely fucking reek, and despite these things not usually bothering Frank - it however added to his already growing irritation. The sweet aroma of the restless ink being injected into tense skin would generally relax Frank and make him forget about all the what if's and why's - but today, today there was no fucking way the smell of ink in a grimy, humid, overcrowded tattoo parlour was going to help Frank calm down. No fucking way. Frank was mad, and not a single thing about his workspace was going to make it any better.  
"You ought to be careful with that needle there, Frank," his co-worker, Lewis, warned while standing over Frank and his customer.  
"I know what I'm fucking doing, I've worked here for three years," Frank replied through gritted teeth - slowly enunciating each word with anger - while he continued adding the final amounts of colour to the wilting flower he had earlier tattooed on the shoulder blade of his current customer -a skinny, long legged and black haired woman who looked as though she should be on the front of Kerrang! or any other equally as problematic band magazine.  
"I am well aware of how long you have worked here, Iero - and that doesn't change the fact that today you're being sloppy," Lewis spat, clearly mindful of Frank's foul mood and deliberately attempting to wind him up - regretfully with succession.  
Frank took a sharp inhale of breath and bit his lip with frustration as he turned off the tattoo machine, having finished with the tattoo.  
"I am not being fucking sloppy," he said loudly, not quite shouting but not quite speaking, either. There is nothing Frank hated more than people making snide comments on things he actually gave a shit about. There was no need for it in the slightest.  
"You two better chill the fuck out - the last thing we need is to scare customers away with petty arguments," a voice demanded in a threatening tone. Frank looked in the direction of the voice and found it belonged to the managers - Rachel.  
"I haven't done shit," Frank quietly said, not wanting to yell despite his ever growing anger - in fear of pissing Rachel off even more. Rachel was great girl; a Stephen King and rock band junkie, hates the dead and loves the living - but she sure as hell doesn't take any shit from anybody and while she may buy you a couple more beers at the local pub than she originally agreed to, she won't hesitate to knock your incisors down your throat if you say something out of line.  
"Chill the fuck out," Rachel repeated while pulling slightly on a section of her long, blonde locks, black rimmed green eyes not glancing up from the current novel she was reading - undoubtedly a Stephen King. With large green eyes, a well defined nose, lips that weren't overly large but not tragically thin that all rested on skin so pale that it reflected the moon's glow - Rachel was beyond beautiful. Anyone and everyone found Rachel ethereal, not excluding straight girls and gay guys.  
Lewis strode towards Frank and stood beside him - breaking Frank's stare at Rachel.  
"Why're you looking at Rachel, huh? You into her?" he questioned Frank in a low voice, his voice dancing with amusement. Frank glared up at him with annoyance - _what the fuck was his problem?! ___  
"She's not my type," he vaguely replied. "Why do you give a shit if I am into her or not anyway?"  
"How the fuck can she not be your type?! She's everyone's type-" Lewis whispered excitedly, pushing aside Frank's question. His eyes widened with further amusement as he said in a knowing voice, "-you must be gay for her to not be your type."  
"What if i was, huh?" Frank asked him as he tensed his jaw.  
Lewis's mouth widened to a cheshire grin.  
"You're a fag," he hissed, his eyes squinted into small slits with hilarity.  
"And you're clearly a homophobic cunt," Frank snarled, digging his nails into palms.  
"Fuck this, I'm out," he said loudly.  
"We still have thirty minutes till we close - you're not going anywhere," Rachel stated, again not tearing her eyes from her novel.  
"Rachel, you fucking know we won't be able to fit anybody in thirty minutes, and nobody comes to book a tattoo at ten thirty pm," Frank shot back as he began opening the door while putting on his hoodie.  
"You're lucky you're good at your job!" she yelled after him as he walked outside, immediately heading in the direction of the closest club _Fuck,_ he thought, _I need a drink. ___

**Chapter two ******

Frank stormed forward, a little less tense now he was out of the parlour. _I should just fucking quit, ___he thought to himself. _Who wants a sloppy tattooist? ___  
Despite the prominent self hatred embedded in Frank's thoughts, he was beyond competent at masking it. Frank looked the complete opposite to a miserable, self loathing masochist, to start with. His short yet slightly chubby frame made him look overall larger and more threatening - the tattoos printed on almost every section of his bare skin causing that to become an eminent factor. A small moustache rested above his small Cupid's bow lips while a stubble of a beard patterned his chin and jaw, defining Frank's ethereal bone structure and making him appear yet even more masculine and mature. His hazel, almond shaped eyes which were always dancing with either arousement or fury were possibly the main feature of Frank which drew people to him. They captivated you, they made you feel like you were drowning but that didn't matter one bit because the only thing that mattered while you were drowning was not how much longer your body could manage without oxygen but those eyes, those smug, half lidded eyes and the dominance they portrayed when they glared at you and the things - the _things ___they suggested when they did so much as glimpse in your direction.  
The short man let out a loud huff of breath as he burst through the nightclub's door, the sound of electric guitars and loud conversations slammed into his ears and the reek of beer accompanied by cigarettes immediately hit his nose. Frank's legs automatically strode in the direction of the bar, his tongue yearning for a drink.  
"Budweiser," he demanded while flopping onto an empty stool, tossing a ten dollar bill in the direction of the skinny bartender. The bartender glanced up at him with a bored expression on his face and muttered an inaudible reply as he pulled the beer tab. He gave Frank his beer and immediately began fiddling with his phone.  
Frank gulped down half of it, slowing only so he could relish the bitter taste. He slouched over his beer, resting his forehead on his inked knuckles. _Thank fuck I have the weekend off, ___he mused as he forced himself to sit up. Frank felt beyond glad - perhaps even joyous that he was free from that sweat reeking place for a couple of days. It wasn't just the pleasurable thought of not having to see his asshole of a co worker, but that he would be able to rediscover his immense love for every aspect of the parlour - even the constant smell of body odour.  
Frank peeked around the room, wondering if there was any possibility of getting lucky, or maybe even falling in love - but he highly doubted it. He'd never felt such passion for another being before. Frank often found himself longing to feel, but he always shut such desires out. _I’ve never felt - I never will, ___Frank almost instructed to himself. _It’s fortunate I can’t, I’d be hysterical if I were to ever find love for another. ___  
As Frank tore his eyes from the dance floor where he was (unsuccessfully) searching for possible one-nighters, he caught sight of a tall, black haired guy sitting a couple of seats away from him. He must've been there before Frank - he would've seen the guy if he'd come in after him. Frank shuffled on his stool so that he was angled slightly towards the direction of the raven haired male in an attempt to get a better look at him without making it too obvious. _I definitely would've noticed him come in after me, __Frank thought to himself as he observed him. From Frank's position, he was able to appreciate the guy's long, artificially black bangs which seemed like they were in dire need of a trim, judging by the way they rested not on his forehead - but on the tops of his cheekbones in thick, greasy locks. This amused Frank - if he was to have such irritatingly long hair blocking his vision, he would cut it off or at least push it back so he could actually see. However, this guy didn't seem to mind in the slightest as he sipped his beer while his almost completely hair-disguised eyes darted around the room. While Frank was trying to get an idea of what his eyes looked like, they unexpectedly flicked up to meet his. Hazel circles resting in white orbs - which noticeably emitted wariness - rested on Frank's own eyes for a second (and he was _sure ___he saw the guys' right eyebrow twitch upwards slightly) and almost immediately, the beautiful eyes shot down to gaze into his beer. Frank smirked, assuming he was an "I-don't-want-any-trouble" kind of guy, and Frank liked that. He liked that a great deal. Simply his lack of eye contact already showed Frank he was a submissive. _Perfect, ___Frank thought to himself. He lurched up from his stool and began walking towards the slouched man, his hands sitting casually in his pockets. The guy's wary eyes met Frank's own spheres as Frank stood approximately twenty centimetres away from where he was sitting - close enough to be able to smell his aroma (cigarettes and a weak hint of aftershave), but still not close enough for Frank to hear his pulse. _I wonder how close 'close enough' really is, ___Frank pondered, while repressing the urge to move yet even closer. Frank sat down on the stool beside the hesitant-eyed guy and smirked a little at the light blush that had begun to tint his otherwise pale skin. Beautiful, soft skin. _I bet it would feel real nice laying in my hands, ____Frank began to think longingly, but he abruptly ended his train of thoughts. He didn't want them. Not when he was standing beside a pretty guy.  
“Hey,” he said confidently to the man who was now gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes.  
“Hey,” the guy replied, lengthening the word until it sounded more like a question than a greeting.  
Frank shifted slightly in his seat, confused as to why the guy seemed so uncomfortable in his presence. Frank offered the guy a grin, and the hazel eyed man gave him a timid smile in response.  
“What's your name, pretty?” Frank asked him while angling his head, making his staring eyes half lidded. The man opposite him winced slightly while slowly closing his eyes and taking a sharp intake of breath in reaction to Frank's nickname for him.  
“Gerard,” he said quickly as he snapped his eyes back open.  
Frank poked the tip of his tongue through his lips and glistened his bottom lip briefly before lightly catching his teeth on it.  
“Gerard..” he repeated, rolling the name around his tongue, “I’m Frank.”  
“Nice to meet you, Frank - I guess -” Gerard said almost robotically, “- why are you talking to me?”  
Frank smirked at his uncertainty that was still lurking in his drawling voice. _He’s cute. ___  
“Well - I’m lonely, and you're hot,” he stated blatantly while grinning at him.  
“It looks like we have more in common than what I initially thought,” Gerard said with confidence, smirking at Frank.  
“Oh really?” Frank questioned him, raising his left eyebrow in amusement.  
“Yeah,” Gerard replied while looking down at his beer and smiling slightly, his short burst of confidence almost completely disappearing almost as abruptly as it had appeared.  
“I see,” Frank responded, his eyes holding a firm yet lustful stare with Gerard’s darting, nervous ones. Gerard dropped his eyes to his beer, making it evident to Frank that his nerves setting in once again. Frank observed his eyelids which were covering approximately three quarters of Gerard's anxious eyes. From what Frank could see in the dull light of the club, they were beautifully pale with dark, thick eyelashes sprouting from them - making him appear slightly more feminine.  
_He’d look real cute with my cock in his ass,_ Frank unintentionally thought, the image sending a familiar warm and uncomfortable feeling to his crotch. _Thank fuck it’s dark in here. ___  
“So, you got any plans tonight?” Frank broke the silence with, while grinning slightly. Gerard smirked a little, clearly aware of what Frank was hinting at.  
“Actually, I have quite a lot of work to do,” he replied, his face presenting an almost guilty expression.  
“Oh?” Frank almost questioned. Sure, he was pissed that Gerard had pretty much completely declined his invitation - but he was more confused than pissed. Usually guys wouldn't think twice about the “important” aspects of their lives (family, work etc) after Frank had shown even a mild interest in them - but not Gerard. Gerard wasn't like those desperate, intoxicated, cheating men who were either sick of hearing their girlfriends’ fake moans each night after they'd finally gave in to their sexually frustrated boyfriends’ neverending pestering or desperately lonely and sick of jerking off - Gerard actually gave a shit about a thing or two and despite Frank being unable to empathise with him, he admired that.  
“Yeah, I'm an artist so I always have to be making either new art or more prints,” Gerard explained sheepishly, while scratching the back of his head.  
“Holy shit, what style of art do you do?” Frank asked excitedly, all traces of annoyance immediately evaporating.  
“All styles really, but I mostly do illustration art,” Gerard replied, clearly finding comfort in discussing his obvious passion.  
“That’s so fucking rad,” Frank stated honestly. _Holy shit, he could design some tattooes for me. Holy SHIT. ___"I'm a tattoo artist, y’know.”  
“Really? That's so cool-” Gerard paused momentarily as he skimmed his hazel eyes over Frank’s illustrated skin; “-not gonna lie, it's not hard to tell.”  
“Hah, I guess not,” Frank chuckled. He watched Gerard as he finally drained the beer he'd previously been gazing at for the past forty minutes or so, the veins in his hands jutting out with the heat of the club - admittedly turning Frank on yet even more _(tubes of blood tubes of it tubes of all that beautiful liquid beautiful beautiful BEAUTIFUL) ___.  
“I'm real sorry but like I said earlier - I really do need to get home,” Gerard apologetically said, snapping Frank out of his enchanted daze.  
“Sure - hey, can't I at least catch your number though?” Frank almost pleaded, the desperation in his voice surprising himself. _Since when did I get so fucking obsessed with a guy who I'd initially planned to forget about after fucking? ___Frank asked himself, this new feeling in his chest beyond perplexing him.  
“Shit, of course,” Gerard answered him. There was an awkward pause as Gerard held out his hand while Frank stared dumly at it. “Um - I’ll put my number in your phone?”  
“Oh! Right, sorry,” Frank said as he scrabbled at his pockets for his phone. _He thinks you're so fucking stupid. You're so fucking STUPID, ___he inwardly yelled at himself. Frank almost tossed Gerard his phone and began fiddling with his fingers the second they were empty. _Shit. ___  
Gerard tapped rapidly at Frank's cracked phone screen, and then held it back out to him with a friendly yet still timid smile. Frank took it from him and shoved it back in his jean pocket.  
“I’ll see you around, I guess,” he said to Gerard with dismay.  
“Yeah, I’ll see you around,” Gerard almost flirtatiously replied while looking Frank dead in the eye for the first time that night.  
_Fuck. ___  
Gerard broke the intense eye contact as he began getting up to leave the humid room.  
“Later,” Gerard called to Frank while walking towards the green-lit exit. Frank simply stared at the artist, too captivated to react to what generally would've been an (uncommon) sign of rejection.  
Frank abandoned the almost full pint on the bar and began to make his own way to the door which promised a cool relief. Once Frank was out in the cool ether, he hopped in a nearby taxi, a regular procedure. He was no longer eager for cheap sex. The only things Frank was eager for was the soothing sound of Gerard’s voice and the sight of _(his veins full o’ blood his veins his veins his VEINS) ___his beautiful pale skin. Nothing more.  
_This is so fucking weird, ___Frank thought to himself as he gazed out of the taxi window. He’d only ever taken a sexual interest in guys; never a genuine romantic interest. _What the fuck. ___  
“Right here, yeah?” the bald headed taxi driver asked Frank as he pulled over to the path next to a block of flats.  
“Yeah, here's perfect,” Frank confirmed with an undeniable stroke of sadness in his voice. He handed a few dollar bills to the taxi driver and launched himself from the sunken passenger seat. Frank shuffled into his trashed apartment, kicking a week old pizza box out of his way. He slammed the door behind him, letting out a huge sigh as he tiptoed around the debris. Frank threw his body weight onto the worn, grey sofa and intertwined his fingers across his chest.  
_Gerard, ___Frank longingly thought. _I wonder what his veins feel like. ___


End file.
